


Transitions

by AwashSquid



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 21:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14434350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwashSquid/pseuds/AwashSquid
Summary: The beginnings of Crystal Tokyo brought about many changes.Or:Michiru is commissioned to paint the portraits of her companions.





	Transitions

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of an exercise to get myself back into fanfiction writing after taking some time for my original stuff! I used a prompt generator to get the idea for this one. 
> 
> Prompt: Michiru and Setsuna in the Crystal Palace. Shades of Grey / Reflect.

When Usagi had asked MIchiru to paint the large portraits of the Royal Family and their Senshi, it had been because she was still starry-eyed that she had such a talented artist around her and she wanted her to be able to show off her works. When _Serenity_ had asked Michiru the same a few weeks later, it came out a little more commanding than complimentary. There were, of course, some phrases thrown in about how only an artist so close to the Senshi could possibly showcase them at their best, but Michiru didn’t take these to heart. She had long ago grown used to instructions being made softer by the careful additions of flimsy flattery and could tune out the less sincere sentences with almost no conscious thought. She had nodded and said she would start right away, and Serenity had smiled with only her lips and not her teeth, and Michiru wondered why that made her feel a little sad.

Michiru had started with the easiest subject as a warmup, and Haruka’s portrait was complete in no time. Sailor Uranus stood resolute and proud, brandishing her sword as the wind tousled her hair and uniform. She had a cocksure smirk on her face, but her eyes were kind. The sea ebbed in the background, but almost no one noticed it, unable to take their eyes from the handsome soldier. It was enjoyable for Michiru, and the work went quickly and easily, her brush having painted the same face so many times she could follow the strokes from memory.

She had wanted to do Setsuna next, but to her mild surprise, the older woman had seemed uncomfortable with the idea.

“I don’t know,” she responded to Michiru’s query, slowly stirring the dash of honey into her tea. “Are you quite sure Serenity meant for _me_ to be included?” Her garnet eyes didn’t look up as she gently placed her spoon on the saucer and lifted the teacup to her deep red lips. Even after the years of fighting alongside the other Senshi, of being reincarnated as Setsuna Meioh several times over, she still didn’t feel as though she belonged with them.

_And how could she?_ thought Michiru. Setsuna was more goddess than the rest of them, perhaps more even than the newly-crowned Neo-Queen Serenity herself. It was easy for the more observant among their ranks, Michiru included, to determine that Setsuna felt out of place, her warm presence teetering a bit towards awkward at times, her social skills occasionally a little off. But Michiru had never made it a habit to see her that way, as _Pluto_ , a goddess among mortals; she just saw a companion, someone she enjoyed tea and shopping with, a quiet, steady presence, underappreciated and vital as a heartbeat, thrumming in the background of her life.

“I can’t imagine that she would want everyone commissioned save for one Senshi, could you?” Michiru demurred, sipping on her own tea slowly. Her lips were quirked in a way that suggested to oppose the idea would be odd, if not bizarre, and Setsuna had smiled back.

“I suppose not,” the reply came, and her eyes sparkled just a little more in the dim lighting of the tea shop.

Setsuna had come over the next day for Michiru to do some rough sketching; she could paint well enough without a model, but it always helped her to have a reference to get the finer aspects of a person--the way their eyes crinkled, or their fingers splayed. In the portrait, Sailor Pluto would be holding her Garnet Rod, her grip both delicate and firm, as though the weapon were simply an extension of her own arms, her expression warm, but her eyes gazing just a little beyond the viewer of the painting, a slight separation between her and the audience. Michiru had declined to paint the Time Door in the background and instead opted for the deepness and richness of space, swirling galaxies lighting her from behind in a somewhat ethereal fashion.

“You’ve quite outdone yourself this time,” Setsuna told her once it was hung, gazing at her painted duplicate. “The lighting technique is phenomenal.”

“It’s not so hard, when the subject is captivating,” Michiru replied, lightly teasing in the way that she had come to do more in the recent years, allowing herself to open up little by little in front of the others. The mirth fell away when she gazed down the hall at all of the empty spaces, plaques and lights installed already, waiting for her paintings to fill their places. “Perhaps it will not be as easy for everyone else.”

Setsuna followed her gaze to see the largest spot, where the portrait of the Royal Family would be hung. Serenity wasn’t pregnant yet--and no one was sure when that would happen, given that they all had stopped aging--but the King and Queen would need an official portrait, and so Michiru wouldn’t be able to wait for Chibi-Usa to come along, as they all expected she would. “I can’t say I envy your appointment,” Setsuna murmured, lowering her voice as she stepped closer the woman she had come to call her friend. “This part is always...difficult.”

Michiru didn’t press further, knowing the implications. Setsuna occasionally slipped into speaking about the majority of timelines as a whole, allowing herself to look at the infinitely large picture that only she could see. Michiru had learned that it was best not to ask for clarification, as she usually would explain what she meant without being prompted. And, sure enough, Setsuna continued.

“The transition from Usagi to Serenity is difficult for everyone, including the Queen herself. We are, for the most part, the same as we have always been: soldiers. But she…” she trailed off, and Michiru finished the sentence.

“She goes from a Princess to a Queen, minus any training her mother would have prepared her with.” Michiru shook her head lightly, using the movement to quickly reassess that they were alone in the yawning gallery before lowering her voice another measure more. “I can paint what is in front of me, but _how_ to paint it--which one, after all, am I meant to showcase, the girl, or the monarch?” The unspoken question lingered: _And what if I choose wrong?_ , an incredibly rare insight into an insecurity: a worry, however small or large, that she would not measure up to expectations.

Setsuna rested her hand lightly on the shorter woman’s shoulder. “I’m sure that it will be wonderful, Michiru. Just paint what you see. Whatever that is.” There was true sincerity in her deep voice, a warmth that touched Michiru just as a good cup of tea would. She nodded, and Setsuna removed her hand and walked away, heels clicking as she walked down the hall, even her steps echoing _tick-tock, tick-tock._

A few weeks later the portrait of the King and Queen was unveiled, and to Michiru’s hidden relief, it received favorable reviews. The background showed the splendor of Crystal Tokyo glittering in the light, the colors ever-so-slightly muted such that the couple in the foreground stood out all the more. Mamoru looked regal and wise, the King he had always seemed to resemble, his face turned just slightly to look at his Queen. Serenity stood by his side, her eyes youthful and sparkling, her mouth smiling demurely. Her face was turned towards his, but her gaze was off towards the horizon, looking towards a future that none of them could see.

Michiru was accepting compliments from the other Senshi, a few of them not-so-subtly vying to see who she would paint next (MInako and Rei had a betting pool that was “secret,” which meant that everyone within a ten-foot range knew about its existence), when she was grabbed from behind, small arms squeezing tightly around her midsection. Her eyes bulged wide in alarm and she let out a small squeak that Haruka would later try to convince her was dignified, even after Minako left a squeaky squid dog toy in their mail slot days later.

“My- Queen,” she gasped out, “you- are- significantly- constricting- my- airway.” It wasn’t quite true; the grip was a little lower, around her abdomen rather than her chest, but it had knocked the wind out of her all the same. The grasp (“hug” seemed far too gentle of a word for what Michiru counted as closer to an assault) was released, and Serenity came around to her front.

“I’m sorry, Michiru! It’s just so wonderful! You made my Mamo-chan look so handsome, well, I mean he is handsome, but...handsome-er, I guess,” she rambled, hands gesturing animatedly. Rei cleared her throat and Serenity glanced around to see a few curious eyes looking in her direction, eyebrows raised at the lack of decorum displayed by the Queen. She smoothed the silken fabric of her white dress nervously and continued in a much more subdued tone, “Thank you again for the wonderful work. I look forward to seeing the rest of the Senshi in your style.” The words sounded stilted, and Michiru could picture the woman practicing them in front of the mirror to get them just right.

Michiru nodded and smiled graciously, the tightness around her eyes the only indicator that she had been at all ruffled by the exchange. The Queen excused herself then, whisked away to exchange pleasantries with other attendees, much to Michiru’s relief. She plucked a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and took a sip, the bubbles light and crisp on her tongue as she turned away from the large portrait, feeling the painted Serenity’s gaze following her down the hall as she walked away from the gathering.


End file.
